


I am Yours

by Elionia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Character Study, Codependency, Dark, Darkfic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elionia/pseuds/Elionia
Summary: Mira Forrester has taken the hand of Rickard Morgryn in exchange for her life. She has lost her power and her ancestral home. In her life after King's Landing, she must come to terms with the consequences of her decision.This fic will get very dark, and the rating may change. Please read the tags. If you are uncomfortable with rape and abuse, please do not trigger yourself.
Relationships: Mira Forrester/Rickard Morgryn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	I am Yours

**I**

**K** ing’s Landing grew ever smaller as the carriage went down the kingsroad. Mira watched the city dwindle until the Tower of the Hand's spire grew obscured by the overhang of trees. She continued to stare out of the carriage door’s window, searching for a flash of the Red Keep. She would have stared until her neck began to sprain, had the man who sat across from her not finally spoken.

“There’s no point in looking back, Mira. You will never return, and King’s Landing no longer holds anything for you.”

Lord Rickard Morgryn’s eyes were fixed on her, as though he had observed a curious exotic animal brought in from across the Narrow Sea. There was no betrayal of concern for his newly betrothed, no indication that he thought her fear and dismay were anything noteworthy.

Were it days past, when she still clutched naively to the hope that Ironrath could withstand the assault of a mercenary army, Mira might have felt indignation; been stirred to anger; sought any and every means of escape. But Ironrath had fallen. Most of her House had been put to the sword; her mother and brothers, Ser Royland and Maester Ortengryn, as well as all of the smallfolk. Talia had, by all accounts, been violated before her capture, and was forced into marriage with Gryff Whitehill.

“I only wish to catch but a glimpse, my Lord.” Mira’s gaze remained on the road behind them, until she felt a cool touch on her chin. Morgryn’s fingers applied little pressure as he inched her head slowly in his direction, and stopped only when their eyes met.

“Such beauty, Mira. I do believe you are even more radiant when overcome by melancholy,” he tickled her chin, then returned his hand to his lap. “But I need you to be brave. I cannot allow you to exude such misery for the entire journey. It would make me terribly unhappy. I am not a _cruel_ man, despite the circumstances.”

Mira felt the sudden lash of resentment flare deep within her chest, and she fixed Morgryn with a glare.

“Cruel, my Lord? It never occurred to me that I should consider you so. What have you ever done to earn such slander?” Spite dripped from each word. “Trying to have me killed? A consequence of politics, no doubt. Forcing me to take your hand? Why, there are no greater tales of love than those with fair maidens being taken by monstrous—,” the slap sent her flying to one end of the carriage seat, and she gingerly touched her reddened face, having greatly overestimated Morgryn’s restraint.

“Remember our deal, Mira,” he reminded her evenly, and narrowed eyes cautioned her from retorting. “I give you your life; you give me a tolerable marriage.” His hand extended to caress her tender cheek. “I did not force you to send that boy to the block in your place. You could have died in the true Northern fashion, just as your brothers did—proud and stupid.”

Mira straightened herself and allowed Morgryn’s hand to do as it pleased. She held his stare through vacant, half-lidded eyes, and waited to see who would break it first.

While imprisoned and faced with imminent death, life had seemed so important; besides wishing to aid her family and secure herself back into Margaery’s good graces, it had been the trivial, more mundane and base desires that had stirred her decision to marry Morgryn. She had wanted to eat grapes again, to taste Arbor Red; to accompany her Lady on rides through meadows, and to become known to a man. Riding in the carriage as she was, Mira did not know if she would have made the same choice. But it was too late anyway.

Morgryn gave her cheek a small tap, then moved his hand to the drapes of the carriage. He broke the stare to cover the windows on both sides, and reclined in his seat before closing his eyes.

“I recommend you get some rest, Mira. We have a long way to the next stop, and it will do you some good to forget about your reality for a few hours.”

Mira’s gaze was honed in on Morgryn’s neck, exposed while he craned his head back. She remembered her threat made in the cell back in King’s Landing. She had no weapons, and didn’t possess the strength enough to overpower the man and strangle him. It was a comfort, however, to imagine running a blade across the apple of his throat; of watching the lifeblood drain down the collar of his silks.

As if knowing her thoughts, Morgryn rested a hand within the confines of his cloak, and Mira saw the flash of a dagger’s pommel. The glint of the steel was seductive, but she could spot a tease from across the Blackwater. He was testing her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not until she was home in Ironrath.

Turning her head to the side, Mira watched the silhouettes of passing trees crawl along the window drapes, and let the shadows lull her to sleep.

* * *

“Torrhen and Gryff Whitehill are proving to be more irksome than their father ever was...”

Mira did not look up from her bowl of porridge after Morgryn had dismissed the runner from Highpoint, but she played her part well enough to inquire.

“Trouble, my Lord?”

Morgryn pursed his lips and again read the recently delivered letter.

“Your sister has fallen into a deep sleep as a result of ill-treatment. I cannot imagine the horrors that she has been subject to since the fall of your House. Worse still, the party from Rillwater Crossing sent to deliver a ransom for Elaena Glenmore has failed to arrive at Highpoint. I suspect due to brigands under orders of the new Lord Whitehill. Really, he is rather tactless. He all but admits it here, see?”

Mira’s jaw had grown slack at the news of Talia, and she hardly acknowledged the parchment presented to her. Her hand set down the spoon, half full of porridge, and she tried to control her breathing.

Meanwhile, Morgryn had folded the letter up and tucked it away for safekeeping, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“If Torrhen and Gryff are not careful, they might just incite the Glenmores to march upon Ironrath, where I am certain they are keeping the Lady Glenmore imprisoned. That cannot come to pass. I do not wish to be the lord of splinters and ash, and the holdfast has already been ravaged by the Whitehill’s mercenaries. A second sacking would only serve to hinder my plans.” Morgryn tutted and stared into the hearth as he pondered solutions. He did not speak to Mira until it was time to depart the tavern.

Once they had resumed their trek on the kingsroad, Mira fell into a state of blissful thoughtlessness, humming the song Talia had written for the funerals of their late father and Ethan. Morgryn didn’t seem to mind, despite how incessant the tune became, and even decided to join her after some time.

She stopped when he did this, and gave him a quizzical look. He returned it with a small shrug, then smiled, “Very lovely, Mira. Are there words to accompany the melody?”

Mira shook her head, not wanting Talia’s song to be embraced by one of the many men who had helped cause the destruction of House Forrester. She fell silent and stared out of the seat side window; Morgryn had allowed her the freedom to watch as they grew nearer and nearer to Deepwood Motte. Their guarded escort predicted arrival within the fortnight.

“You know, Mira,” Morgryn spoke with the tone he used when he wanted her undivided attention, and Mira reluctantly looked to him. “When we are wed, there are certain duties you must perform. You know of these, don’t you? It was part of our deal.”

“You will have your heirs, my Lord,” Mira’s reply was chilly. “I am not ignorant of what wives must do for their husbands.”

“Of course not. I doubt ignorance in such affairs is something you are capable of. You spent quite some time serving the Tyrells in Highgarden, did you not?” Morgryn’s lips curled in a knowing smile. “I’m sure you were given ample opportunity to grow acquainted with the passions of love.”

“Love? Is that what we shall pretend this is?” Mira sneered, not able to maintain her theatre for very long. “If you wish to question my virtue, my Lord, simply do so. It may please you to know that I am still a maid.”

Morgryn raised a hand, and Mira felt herself tense, but the man only gave a dismissive wave.

“The thought had never even crossed my mind, dear Mira. I don’t _care_ about your virtue. You could have fucked all the knights in the Reach, the Lannister guard you so cunningly murdered, Seven Hells, even that coal boy—it wouldn’t make any difference to me,” he leaned in until their faces were mere lashes apart. “All that matters is honesty from here on out. I will not be made a fool of. I need a faithful wife. A wife who will not tell lies. Are you capable of such things, Mira?”

Mira felt the graze of Morgryn’s beard against her chin, and she held his stare for a beat before she answered.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good,” Morgryn leaned back and gave her an expectant look. “Well? What are the words?”

Mira furrowed her brow before she finally understood. After a woeful sigh, she parted her lips:

“ _From ice, from ice, we Forresters born,_

_To ice we all return._

_Father, brother I've sworn, I've sworn,_

_To guard this rest you've earned._

_I'd bare my neck to Ilyn Payne,_

_And swim the Shivering Sea._

_Paint Slaver's Bay in crimson rains,_

_To bring Ethan back to me._

_Snow grabbed me from my mother's grasp,_

_To claim me as his prize._

_Ethan freed me from Ramsay's clasp,_

_The rival lords locked eyes, the rival lords locked eyes._

_Fight on, fight on, Ethan the Brave,_

_Old Gods bare steel with you._

_Our lord, my twin, a hero's grave._

_So iron grows anew,_

_Still iron grows anew.”_

* * *

They were a day away from Ironrath. As they traveled through the Wolfswood, the vestiges of the once proud ironwood forests proved painful reminders of everything that had been lost for Mira. She had grown especially despondent as the journey neared its end, and refused to engage with Morgryn entirely. When the escort stopped for rest, she stayed in the carriage while the camp was being prepared.

As night fell, Morgryn rejoined her in the carriage, stinking of wine and pipe smoke. He placed multitude kisses upon her lips, and coaxed her to surrender her mouth in the ways of a whore. As such, she kept her maidenhead, but became known to a man.

When they arrived at Ironrath, Morgryn arranged an immediate marriage before the Godswood, with only the retinue that had served as escort bearing witness, alongside the Whitehill garrison. The bedding ceremony was forgone in line with the sudden nature of the wedding. Once the transfer of the castle was completed, the Whitehills departed for Highpoint, and the new Lord of Ironrath wasted little time in sending out ravens. Once satisfied and having completed other business, he summoned Mira into the keep’s great hall.

As she walked along the once-familiar corridors of her childhood home, Mira felt her façade of clinical regard begin to crumble. She was in tears by the time she arrived in the hall, much to Morgryn’s surprise.

“Mira?” He was by her side with a swiftness that seemed unnatural, his arm wrapped around her waist. “What has happened? I expected you to be relieved, to at last be home again.” He led her to the fire, where seats had been set, and guided her down in one.

Through her sobs, Mira stared into the blue flames of the hearth and fell deeper into despair.

“Relief? What relief could I possibly feel, my Lord? All of my family are now dead, and I am condemned to remember it every day I spend in this castle. I saw ghosts as I made my way to you. Ghosts of my father, my mother, and my brothers. And I know that in time, I shall come to see Talia’s as well,” she swatted his hand as it made to dry her eyes with a cloth. “Do not play as though you care. You, who violated me last night. You, who so tortured me over the last few months. Do not play as though there is anything but a black heart inside of your chest. Do not play as though I will believe you, because I will not!”

Morgryn’s face was stone, and he stiffly detached from her, throwing the cloth in her lap.

“Very well. I see that you have grown hysterical. I shall visit you later, when you have recovered yourself.” He waved for a guardsman near the door, who took Mira by the arm and led her out of the hall.

She was taken to the quarters of her parents, which had been prepared in an odd way by the housemaids Morgryn had brought with him from King’s Landing. Mira sat down on the bed where she had sought warmth and comfort as a little girl afraid of the solitude of her own chambers—Talia and Ethan had not yet been born. She laid down in the middle of the bed and imagined her parents on either side, as they had been when she had last came to them as a child. She suckled on her thumb and stayed that way until she fell asleep.


End file.
